He rarely took off his mask, it was more rare that he took off his balaclava. If he did, he'd find a way to drink his tea or have a drag of his cigarette without you seeing.

You were lounging with him in his room, sitting on his bed with him next to you, a cigarette between his fingers. You wished you hadn't looked away so soon because he had already taken a drag.

He leaned toward you, smoke filtering from under his mask, looking at you in a sensual way as his hand trailed along your thigh.